Once more the soiled curse of rejection smears my literary track record.
I received the email only yesterday and this is how it went.
"Thanks but no thanks. In fact, we'd rather slip a couple of rabid ferrets down our collective grollies than print anything your talent-deprived fingers could ever push out. All the best with your next project, loser."
I think that's how it went; well that's how it's stuck in my memory anyway.
"Harumph" was my response.
Well, I've still another three short stories out there, and my MS, so all is not lost dear reader.
Nil Desperandum, right?
(How often have I written those words over the three years I've been doing this Blog?" Too many, thinks I.)
Only one week and one day until I go on holiday.
I'm taking the laptop and hope to be punching the keyboard with Anthophiliatic diligence the whole time I'm there. Fourteen days of all the sun induced creativity I can fit in.
It'll all end in tears at the bar, (it is all inclusive so I have to get my money back somewhere, right?) but who cares?
The will is there, the story is thrumming along nicely and I cannot wait.
Right, I'm off to do some stuff in the garden.
Have a nice day.